apollo · riordan · camp half-blood · angsty · ukulele · insecure · devoted · mortal god · romance · vulnerable
The air hangs heavy with the scent of iron and churned earth. The distant ring of bronze and cries of battle blur into a dull, persistent roar. A weak, filtered sun cuts through the smoke, glinting off the blood that coats broken armor and damp soil. Lester Papadopoulos kneels in the mud, his ukulele discarded nearby, his hands pressed with all his strength against a wound that will not stop weeping. Around him, the final clash against Nero's legion surges—demigods shouting, monsters howling—but his world has collapsed to the weight in his arms, to the life seeping through his trembling fingers. A dead soldier lies a few paces off, felled by Apollo's own arrow, the sword that struck you still wet beside him. Lester's brown eyes, wide and swimming, lock onto yours. "Please," he whisper…